


you can't choose what stays and what fades away

by onlyblueskiesfor_you



Series: destiny is red as the blood we shed [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, But they come back to life lol, Childhood Memories, First Meetings, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nicky's POV, Platonic Soulmates, before and during the crusades, i gave nicky a fam but shit happens, just a lil warning, nicky's life journey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25537471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyblueskiesfor_you/pseuds/onlyblueskiesfor_you
Summary: Four key moments in Nicky's life journey that guided him tothe onethat would define his destiny for eternity.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: destiny is red as the blood we shed [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850458
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	1. god is my witness, he knows i've tried

**Author's Note:**

> Title from No light, No light by Florence + the Machine

_ Genova, Italy _

_ Spring, 1087 _

Isabella di Chiavari _loved_ spring. It was her favorite season. 

The weather hadn't fully settled yet, some days too warm, others too cold. 

But she didn't mind. What she enjoyed was to take that basket of hers and Matteo's -her husband-, clothes near the river and washed them there. On hot days like that one, she would walk through the fields barefoot, wearing light garments. 

As soon as she arrived at the riverside, she sat down onto a large rock. It wasn't easy for her to walk down the few miles from her home to the river. Not with a big belly ready to explode any minute. 

Isabella rubbed a hand over her tummy, feeling the child move inside of her. 

The warmth felt delicious on her skin, so she lifted her heart-shaped face upwards, her blue eyes matching with the clean sky. She closed them, soaking on the rays of sunshine, smiling quietly. Thank God, she tied her long umber hair. Otherwise, the warmth would've been unbearable for her.

She took her time to wash the clothes, appreciating the soft rustle of the riverbed and the wind passing through treetops.

Soon enough her momentarily break came to an end. She gathered her things up and returned home.

The house she lived in had everything she needed and wanted. Since she was a kid, things hadn't been simple. Orphan and what was worst, a woman, she couldn't understand how she managed to survive that long. Until she met Matteo and a door of new opportunities opened in front of her. She got to own a house, marry a good man, and also expecting her first child. She was thankful to God for letting her have plenty of blessings.

The balmy day extinguished to welcome a cold yet briskly evening. It didn't take long for the sky to darkened and the first drops to fall. She began to prepare dinner.

Isabella marveled at the rain outside her window when her water broke. The sharp pain took her breath away, an electric shock traveled all over her body. In an attempt to ground herself to something, the bassinet from her hands fell with a clutter, shattering in pieces at the same time as a thunder roared in the sky.

The noises called Matteo's attention and rapidly ran downstairs to aid his wife. The baby wasn't supposed to come for another week and a half. 

Everything after that, Isabella considered it a blur. She was sedated on adrenaline. But dear God, the  _ pain _ . A white sound, maybe Matteo's voice, was telling her the baby had his umbilical cord around his neck, that she had to be strong and push even harder. That the baby needed her. 

_ 'God, they haven't seen the light yet. Please, be merciful and don't take them away from our sides'  _ prayed Isabella before passing out.

Nine hours later, a baby boy was born. Her baby boy. Isabella had never, in her nineteen years on this earth, saw anything more incandescent. He felt warm and delicate against her chest, his baby fingers curled into fists. For a moment she feared for him. He barely moved or cried since she'd woken up. However, the almost imperceptible shift of his teeny chest calmed her worries.

He was perfect. Her little warrior. Not only he arrived early but almost didn't came out at all.

For months, she'd dreamt about her son, how he would grow to become a great man. Now, with certainty in her heart, she _knew_ he was destined to be a fighter.

She sighed and prayed one more time  _ 'Mighty God, protect my son and guide him to greatness. Light his path and don't let him succumb into the shadows' _

Matteo brought her back to reality, repeating his request to name their kid after his own father Nicolo. Isabella stared at her husband and then gazed down at her baby's face, excruciating his soft features, caressing them with the pad of her finger.

She beamed 'Yes, I think Nicolo suits him well'

_ Summer, 1097 _

The baby boy Nicolo di Genova was ten years old when he almost died. 

Well, not exactly. But in the mind of a ten-year-old who fell from a tree, hit the ground and saw his own blood, I believe you would have thought so too.

The inner side of his hands and knees had big scratches, with a bit of blood coming out of them. Nicolo observed his bounds paralyzed.

The moment his aftershock vanished, he ran to his mother crying his poor eyes out. The excuse he elaborated was that he, and quote, 'just wanted to retrieve an apple from the tree for his little sister, Olivia'

Isabella only raised her eyebrows, slightly entertained by her son's statement. She made him sit on the wooden table and attended his scrapes; involuntarily, cracking a smile. 

Knowing her son, he definitely climbed the tree for a completely different reason. Nicolo had a tendency of risking his own safety in an attempt to impress the little girls in the village. More often than not coming back home with bruises or scrapes from fights he got involved or he initiated.

And how not? Her boy inherited his father's wicked grin, sharp eyes and, to dismay, her temper. And he was so charming. All the girls had an obvious crush on him. Somehow, Isabella felt quite proud of that. The boy called the attention not only for his looks but for the way he naturally oozed confidence, drawing people to _orbit_ around him.

This tendency he had to get himself in trouble was no mystery to her.

Isabella stared at his sobbing face 'Nicolo,' the boy glanced at her, his red eyes puffed 'you have to be more careful in the future. You could have been terribly wounded in a larger tree, mio caro' 

'I thought I could make it' whimpered Nicolo under his breath.

The woman carved her fingers through his dark brown hair, cupping one side and brought his eyes to met hers 'One day you're going to climb mountains and fight in battles' she said elusively 'You, Nicolo di Genova, are destined to great adventures. I knew it from the day you were born'

Nicolo frowned his eyebrows 'Really?'

'Of course, mio caro' she ruffled his hair and poke his nose, making him scrunch it and giggle a little 'Who protects me and Olivia from danger when your father isn't home?' She stared firmly, his small bounded hand pointed at himself 'Exactly! You are my little man, my knight in shiny armor. You always protect me and your sister, because you were made to fight, tesoro'

The sharp sparkle in his eyes was back.

'So, now, go and call for your sister to eat lunch' with a final squeeze on his cheek, Isabella stood up and finished cooking. Nicolo stared at her for a moment and soon run outside, screaming her sister's name.

The woman only smiled fondly.

_ Autumn, 1105 _

Eighteen-year-old Nicolo was laying against a tree when it started raining. 

Annoyed, he got up and climbed it, to then sit on a large branch. His legs dangled on either side of it and his back rested against the trunk. 

His green, blue eyes looked up the grey sky, droplets of water falling in cascade. The afternoon was chill and Nicolo sighed. 

He wasn't bothered by the rain or even the cold. His morning hasn't been as good as he'd wanted. 

His father went out all night and returned only to demand food, which there wasn't. The ruffing evolved into an argument, the argument into yelling. Olivia had to intervene at some point when his father threw his bottle of wine at him. She was their common ground and the only person he listened to. But the damage was done.

So he took off and went to his favorite place. One where nobody asked him to do anything or yelled at him for doing the wrong thing. 

He called that evergreen cork oak -the only one in that area-  _ pesce fuor d'acqua _ because… damn, sometimes he felt like that. Out of place, _never_ enough, _always_ a burden. 

Ever since his mother died of fever two years ago, his father changed radically. The supportive, good-hearted man was a vague memory from the past currently replaced with an insufferable, cynical drunk. Thus being at home meant to fight all the time over trivialities, or about the money spent on his alcohol instead of food, or the arguments with Olivia about suddenly being in charge of housework and how she couldn't do it all on her own.

Just… everything was too much. He needed, wanted to get out. Except that he promised to his mother to look out for his father and mostly, for Olivia. She needed him, and he as well. And even if he wouldn't admit it aloud, he loved his father and wanted him to get him back on his feet.

Nicolo scrutinized the sky above him, searching for Him, to guide him, or at least explain to him what he had to do next. He felt lost. In an isolated island, screaming until his lungs bleed, waiting for a miracle only for nobody to answer back. 

His mother had told him he was meant to _greatness_ , that he could be a hero. And yet, he couldn't save her from her sickness. Before that, he had a sense of indestructibility, that no matter what happened he would rise on his feet and battle against all odds. 

It was hard. Harder than he could have ever imagined it would be. He crushed against the earth, against reality and finally open his eyes to a miserable world. One where not everything could be fixed with a charming smile. 

A long-suffering sigh emerged from the bottom of his chest. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. It was already dusk.

A curse left his lips. His thoughts obligated him to swim on unrequited reminiscences.

He climbed down the tree, pressed his hand over the trunk and turned around to walk over his house.

The first thing he noticed once he got near their terrain, was Olivia. She was sitting on the entryway stairs, her shoulders hunched, head low. Her long jet-black hair fell on either side like a curtain. They weren't visible but he was well aware that her green eyes would probably be bloodshot. The guilt in his chest began to twist his stomach in knots.

He opened the fence and closed it audibly enough for her to lift her head and glance at him.

Though her glance turned into a furious glare.

'Where on earth were you?!' screamed Olivia meeting him half way through. She looked like she wanted to slap him and _oh shit_.

He caught her hand on time but she pushed him away, _hard_. Nicolo groaned painfully when he lost his foot and ended up on the ground. In that position she took advantage and smacked him, grumbling under her breath.

'I thought you _left_ ' reproached him in a dull tone, he visibly flinched, 'you just ran off without telling me, you big jerk' she was breathing hard. He stared up at her, her small frame appeared to be taller and imposing from that angle. Olivia limited to look down at him, pursed her lips into a thin line and huffed 'Father passed out at the stall. Go wake him up. Dinner's ready'

She turned around to walk into the house and slammed the door shut.

Nicolo just sat there, on the dirt, cursing himself. His fifteen-year-old sister had to act more mature than him because he couldn't set the self-pity aside. He was pathetic.

Eventually, he got up and went in search of his father, who was indeed snoring loudly in the stall. He sighed and prayed silently to never become like his father.

_ Winter, 1116 _

White snowflakes danced their way to the ground in a peaceful motion, unaware of the crying man sitting next to a grave.

Nicolo di Genova was close to turn twenty-nine years old and somehow he felt as if he was sixteen all over again. Only God knows how long he'd been there, damped and shivering in cold. He didn't care, he couldn't care even if he tried. Everything he ever loved, his mother and his sister. Gone.

Olivia's sickness had has been slower than their mother's. She'd suffered more. In a way, she was finally resting, painlessly and in peace. 

Over the past few years -as soon as Olivia married, he decided to give the house to the new married couple-, he traveled through the country. He became a nomad and gained his sustenance thanks to exigent but modest works. That was until a horse arrived with a letter from Alex, her husband, asking him to return because his sister fell sick. 

Once he got there, Alex told him he tried to reach their father and Nicolo stopped him there. Their father decided one day he wouldn't come back home, come back with them. Both Olivia and Nicolo accepting it was for the best.

The following months were a nightmare. The feeling of impotence was the same he felt when their mother got sick. Useless. Unable to seize her pain. Heartbreaking.

Witness the light of her eyes, which always been so radiant, fade away each passing day...

'Nicolo?'

He didn't turn around. The crunchy steps approached a bit more until he saw a shadow in the corner of his eyes.

'Nicolo, you'd been here for hours. You have to go home' mumbled Alex.

Nicolo lifted his head to glance up at hazel eyes. 'What home?' it was rhetorical but still, he huffed a bitter laugh 'There's nothing for me _there_ , Alex'

Deep down he understood Alex's insistence to move forward. He was still young, he could get a new wife. But Nicolo would never get his sister back. And that's why he couldn't leave her just yet. He wasn't ready to let her go.

'You know,' started Nicolo, staring at the snow gathering on the small wooden cross. 'she really wanted to travel. Around the world. She was obsessed with Greece.' a lopsided smile broke down on his face. 'I promised her I would take her someday' he blinked rapidly to avoid the tears threatening to come out 'I made a lot of promises in my life that I couldn't keep'

'Nicolo…' Seconds later, he heard Alex sitting next to him, bringing his knees to his chest and circling them with his arms. 'The choices we make in life, shouldn't define us. Life is messy and complicated. She loved in spite of your decisions, of what you did and didn't do' Nicolo turned his head of his direction, a bit thrown. They never shared a heart-to-heart conversation in the six years they've known each other and it was a little odd. Alex breathed out 'I loved Olivia. Deeply. Believe my words when I tell you that I understand your pain' he kept his eyes lost in the white scenery in front of them. 'She deserved a long life but God decided it was her time'

_Fuck_. Nicolo scrunched his eyes harder. 

'We should remember her and cherish her in our memories' declared Alex after a while. 

'I can't- I don't know how to let her go' confessed Nicolo with a soft whimper, tears rolling down his face. He curled his fingers into fits, digging his nails hard enough to break the skin. Pain.

'I never said it was going to be easy'

They finally looked at each other. There was resignation in Alex's eyes.

Alex heavy-sighed and stood up. As a final reassurance, he squeezed Nicolo's shoulder and left.

Although 'Oh, Nicolo, one more thing' shouted Alex midway, Nicolo gesturing him to continue 'you should go and see Octavio. He's leading an army to the southeast to fight against the Turks' Alex definitely took notice of his frown because he grinned 'You don't want to go home and you totally need a change of perspective. What's better than go off to war and slay some filthy pagans'

Before he knew what he was doing, he chuckled under his breath, amused.

Alex returned the action. 'Think about it. God is my witness that you'll learn to use a sword as if it were your right hand.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyy everyone!!! well, I decided to make a 2 part series on our men's life experiences (beginning with Nicky), so I hope you've enjoyed knowing a bit more about his life before the crusades:) chapter 2 is coming soon so stay tuned!
> 
> And you can find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thewilddreamerrr)
> 
> Feedback is always welcome and appreciated:3
> 
> -Juls♥


	2. i answered your call, now what?

_Gold sand whirlwind through the desert._

_It wasn't hard to pinpoint where he was. All he could see were miles and miles of hot, gold-colored sand._

_The sun above his head was not less helpful. Surprisingly, his brain was still intact inside his skull, no signs of it melting away._

_But his lips were dry and cracked. He needed water._

_His feet burned because of the sand. If only he had a horse…_

_How he got there?_

_'You didn't guess it?' asked a voice._

_Nicolo turned around but there was nobody there. Just him and the sand._

_'Are you even trying?'_

_His heart started hammering hard against his chest. The voice seemed to come from the wind._

_An instinct, a sudden internal motivation obligated him to move, to move forward, to search the voice but his feet became stones, sinking him to the ground. Ecstatic and unable to move a muscle, he opened his mouth expecting his voice to come out, so he could ask the other one what they meant. Not a sound left his lips._

_'Try what?' he thought, his feet sinking further into the sand, slowly swallowing him whole. No matter what he tried to do, he couldn't free himself, the sand already at his hip level. He needed to hear the voice again. Please, he thought louder and_ louder _._

_Out of nowhere, a pair of dark-brown eyes stared back at him, he'd never seen more captivating eyes in his life. For a reason yet unknown to him, he knew the owner of those eyes was a man. But how could he know such a thing?_

_'Try what?' repeated Nicolo thoughtfully._

_'To find me' replied -the man?- with a soft mellow voice._

_That was the last thing he heard before getting buried under the waves of sand._

A sudden sharp-gasp woke Nicolo up. It took him a few seconds to realize that was his _own_ gasp. He stood on a sitting position, scrubbing his fingers through his messy hair, to then rest them onto his face.

He sighed longingly. 

That dream had been haunting him for the past few months, maybe longer as he couldn't remember it when he woke up in the mornings but now it was so clear. As well as the allusive, heart-stopping feeling of drowning. Sadly it was, as sure as he could manage himself to be, a recurring problem he'd been having for a long time.

To be exact, for three years now, ever since his world finally crippled down to the ground and had the heart-to-heart conversation with Alex.

During that time, he made himself live on the riverside near his old home, the one Alex already sold so he could settle - _indeterminately,_ he'd said to him at the time _-_ in Turin, his birthplace. Both internally acknowledged the fact that the chances of seeing each other again in the future where quite unlikely but there was no need for further upsetting. They farewelled and wished the best in their respective lives. Alex insisted once more for him to go and talk to Octavio, like he suggested that morning at the funeral. He assured him he would. It wasn't necessarily a lie, but it was definitely a half-truth. The word spread among the villagers that Octavio di Genova, under the orders of none other that Roger of Salerno, was recruiting every male capable to hold a weapon. If he gather a considerable number, Roger would view him as a high-profile officer. The idea of over-the-top, arrogant Octavio being remotely considered a high-profiled whatever, made Nicolo grimaced back then. And part of his denial to meet up with Octavio had been because of having to receive orders from him. And, dear God, the nightmare that would've been. 

Octavio had arrived to Genova two months after the funeral, intentionally staying longer than necessary so he could have plenty of time to promote the battle against the pagans, and summon as many fanatics as possible. He gave a lot of thought to the idea but soon concluded that… he just wanted to get the hell out of there. He had nothing else to lose. The motives behind them were selfish in a way, all he could thought about was release his anger, frustration and sorrow against the enemy. He had felt the pressure of guilt on his chest but he'd already decided. And of course, he wasn't one hundred percent happy with himself because of that.

'Nicolo!' someone shouted outside his tent 'Nicolo, come out!'

He was only wearing his light breeches and didn't felt like looking out for his blouse, so he bit off an annoyed groan while leaving the tent. Outside men were gathering around something, perhaps a fight.

'Nicolo!' turns out the voice was Dante's, his scrawny rather lanky friend. He oozed despair.

'What is it? What's happening?'

'They corned him again. Gio' he panted.

This time Nicolo did groaned.

'Heavens. Is like he's asking for it' muttered sulkily. 'You, stay behind me, would you' ordered to the boy, walking his way to the crowd 'and where the fuck is Octavio?' asked over his shoulder.

Dante shrugged 'He left early this morning. Appraisement of the territory or something like that. He rode along with Roger'

God, thought Nicolo rolling his eyes. The men had the bad tendency to leave in the mornings and return as soon as the sun set. In the meantime, soldiers unsupervised and on the loose, did this kind of bullshit. Bully the weaker ones, young boys not even older enough to grow facial hair, just because they could and no one would dare to disagree.

Expect for him.

He made a beeline to the center, shoving several people along the way. All kinds of barks were thrown back at him and yet they remained in their spots, they might be bloodthirsty though not stupid enough to get themselves into a fight. When he reached the center, two men were holding Gio's body while another was punching him mercilessly. His face was covered in blood, his eyes slipped shut. He passed out.

'Hey!' yelled Nicolo.

Silence echoed through the crowd. The three-man also stared back at him. Mister taller, the one who was punching the kid, twisted his mouth into a savage smirked 'And what do you want? We're kind of busy around here' 

Nicolo drifted his eyes to Gio's weak figure. The kid looked awful but luckily still breathing. Relieved, he glared back at Mister taller.

'Listen, let the kid go and we all return to our business' said monotonous, flicking his hand toward Gio.

A bitter laugh burst out of the man, he could taste the fake entertainment in it 'You know what your little friend did' he emphasized the comment by grabbing the kid's jaw and shaking it 'He stole my friends’ and my own ration of food' snarled 'We don't like thieves, di Genova. He has to pay'

Nicolo was fighting very hard not to roll his eyes at him. In the corner of them, he saw Dante trembling with nerves. He exhaled almost imperceptibly and walked a few steps so he could face the other guy.

'I just-' he started when a blow landed on his nose, making him stumble back with a groan. He bowed, still standing on his feet, put his hands on his knees and spit some blood. That shit _hurted_. The men around him were howling in laughter. Mister taller sneered at him. 

Dante approached him, whispering if he was okay. Nicolo nodded and let himself have ten seconds to pull himself together, so then he could catch a glimpse of the other man. He was still laughing, making his way to Gio who seemed to regain his senses.

In a flinch, he stood up and ran toward the other man's back, tackling him to the ground. Underneath him, Mister taller tried to shift around but Nicolo grabbed his the hair, pulling his head upwards and crashing it against the dirt a couple times. Shocked, the other two men came to aid their friend and Nicolo pulled out his knife. He moved around them as if they were dancing, dodging their hits and using his knife to cut here and there. When both men fell to the ground was because they got hit by themselves in a moment of confusion. They aimed to rise but Nicolo kicked them on their stomachs. And because he couldn't help himself, he kicked Mister taller on the nose.

Disappointed grunts and murmurs broke down among their spectators. 

'Come on, everybody back to their business' said Nicolo dismissing them, darting Dante a look to approach and help him carry Gio away. They put his arms against their shoulders and trailed away.

*

'You didn't have to do that. I got it covered' mumble Gio an hour later on Nicolo's tent, they'd been cleansing his wounds 'I mean it, I-'

'Gio. Shut up' snapped Nicolo.

The boy frowned irritated, opening his mouth to protest when Dante hemmed at him and shook his head. Gio's mouth leadened shut.

Nicolo was really tempted to shout at the boy, to let him know he wasn't allowed to do anything stupid. Any of them were. But he also deduced his reasons for what he did. The army was suffering from food shortages. They were starving. And Gio and his brother, as well as half the army, were only kids trying to survive a battle they hadn't even been in yet. When he'd met them, they were scared to death. Their father pressured them to join Roger and Octavio, more as a family honor than actually willingness to fight. And unconsciously, or not, Nicolo took them under his wing. Mostly Gio, his tendency to get in trouble reminded him a lot like himself. 

He would never admit that aloud.

'There’s some food left in that bag' declared Nicolo after a while, both boys silently staring at him 'Try to stay out of trouble' he added with a wry smile.

The trick worked, their faces lighting up a bit, cracking their own half-smiles. He turned to walk out of the tent, grabbing his leather bag on the way, and said over his shoulder 'I'm going to get some water and see if I can find Octavio'. They hummed absently in agreement.

He made his way out the camp when Gio's voice stopped his tracks. Nicolo frowned questionably at his left swollen eye and his still open scratches. The boy stepped in front of him, fidgeting on his feet. Nicolo tilted his head and glanced. Gio must have noticed because he glanced back, comically shrugging 'I'm sorry, okay? I know I shouldn't have done that. I still think I had it handled' he insisted petulantly. Nicolo snorted shaking his head disbelieving. 

'Go to the tent, kid. And stay there' he commanded, a tilt of amusement present on his voice.

Gio groaned mockingly, muttering _fine_ and ran back to the camp.

He watched him go for a few seconds before turning around. There was a small river near their camp. It came as a blessing for such a hostile environment. The sun was scorching hot, not even a fresh breeze dared to wander through the desert. So the river was everything they had. For now. They were moving in a couple of days to the Sarmeda's border. 

Rustle noises from the riverbed filled his ears. Tranquillity like no other place. It made him feel a bit homesick. 

He bit his lip. _'No, Nicolo. Lock those threatening memories far inside the in-depths of your conscience. You can't dig them out, not yet'_ he thought.

The opportunity was perfect to let himself go. He discarded his blouse and immersing on the water, his back against a rock. Cool water came in contact with his warm skin and it was heaven. Blissfully, he closed his eyes to the sun, burying his fingers into mud and stones. A soft moan left his lips. Moments like these were narrowed from cero to none. Therefore, he tried to enjoyed them as long as he could.

Another kind of rustle called his attention. This one didn't come from the river but the riverside gravel. He stiffened sharply and open his eyes to face an archer only three meters away from him.

'Shit' he cursed lowly. How could he leave the tent without his sword? 

Nicolo remained in a _very_ vulnerable place, not daring to move a muscle, limited to stare expectantly at the obvious Turk. He was covered from head to toe in light brown-ish clothes, his eyes and hands the only visible parts. And an arrow pointing right at him. A second or ten passed and the archer kept eyeing at Nicolo, grounded on the gravel. He deduced who Nicolo was, there couldn't be a more appropriate time for the archer to finish him. But he simply… _glanced_ , curiosity overcoming through their -Nicolo assumed it were _both_ \- senses. When Nicolo shifted, the archer clutched his weapon tightly, so he stopped trying. Though now, Nicolo was able to see more clearly the other man's eyes, and why did he have a feeling he'd seen them before? They were dark and intimidating, a void that could absorb all their surrounding light. Magnetic. An involuntary shiver traveled through his spine, his stomach clenching. 

_'What the hell?!'_ shouted a voice inside his head.

Slowly, so annoyingly slow, the archer pulled down his arch. Not fully but enough to not be pointing at him anymore. Nicolo noticed his tall, broad frame suddenly aware of his position and how he'd like to be on his feet. The man tilted his head, casting a look at him, his eyes felt _hotter_ than the sun somehow. Before he could even open his mouth, the archer ran off, vanishing amongst the dunes.

Nicolo's words died there on the riverside's rustle, leaving in a conflicted mood.

*

A frown decorated his face for the rest of the day. Dante and Gio had no idea what really happened to Nicolo, his mood had changed to a somber one when he returned from the river. They didn't find the courage to ask him what was wrong, they simply left him alone. And honestly that was what he needed. He was laying on his old mat staring at the tent profoundly, though his mind was far away from there. It seemed impossible not to think about the river and that man. Why was he so mesmerized by him? Why couldn't he just get him out of his head? Why is it that the mere thought of him made his chest clench? He remembered the feeling of his eyes on him and _fuck_ , Nicolo felt desperate, hungry for them.

_'Stop.'_

He couldn't- he couldn't think about it. He promised to himself not to after the first time, as a teenager, when he stared for way too long at one of his friends. God punished him by taking his mother and sister away. Those sinful thoughts only brought him chaos and suffering. An internal battle had been simmering slowly for years, never letting himself be dragged into fighting in it. He was smart enough to understand the replications it would cause. If he fought against his inner demons, he would be destined to failure, with no shadow of doubt. 

_'So, no. Stop thinking about it'_ he told to himself, exhausted of the same old tale.

And then. High-pitched shrieks.

Nicolo jolted up, his heart beating on his throat. In a flash, he ran out of his tent half-dressed in his battle uniform and his right hand wielding his sword. Not a second later, he froze there awestruck. 

The camp was on fire.

Turk soldiers fighting against his comrades. They were hundreds, maybe thousands. Suddenly he fall forward, the impact disorienting him. It had been a horse, crushing against his side, no rider on the sight only the chair. Bewildered, he got up and aimed his sword against one of the Turks, who was finishing one of his men. He stabbed him across his back.

'Nicolo!' screamed Gio, running to met him. The red cross on his chest almost not visible at all by the blood and dirt. There was wildness and terror in his eyes. Nicolo stumbled to reach him, grabbing his neck and pressing their foreheads together. Gio whimpered and stepped back, he didn't need for Nicolo to formulate his question 'They surrounded us. They _knew_ we were heading to the border in the morning and seized the opportunity to surprise us' he opened his mouth but the words died then and there.

Screams. Fire. Anywhere he set his eyes on. It was all it existed in that moment.

'We need to fight, Gio' Nicolo didn't let him to drop his eyes, he gripped his nape tightly with emphasis 'You are ready, I trained you, didn't I?' his voice was steady but his heart was beating, beating, _beating_ 'If we die, we'll do it with honor' stated as an afterthought 'I'll see you when all of this ends' He silently prayed one last time and released Gio, guiding him to the enemy.

One. Three. Ten and increasing. Nicolo lost count of how many he'd killed. Gio disappeared in a blink, blending amongst the fighters. The stars above them, witnessing the massacre, sent the clouds to rain over them. Probably in an attempt to wash the misery and violence away. But it did not stop them. One side was destined to win that night. Nicolo wasn't ready to give up just yet. So he kept fighting, his muscles aching and shrieking in pain, his eyes blinded by sweat and blood, his ears filled with battle roars and cry-outs.

Until he saw _him_. A flash-firing stare returning his.

And the world, the field, the battle vanished to ashes. He was right in front of him, looking frantic and savage, mirroring his own physical image. The seconds passes and finally, the other man began to run towards Nicolo. He drew out his knife from its handle with his left hand. The fire around them was nothing compared with the igniting flame that was burning them alive. Nicolo positioned himself. The man was getting closer, _closer_. He tightened his grip on both weapons. Their gazes collided. His eyes were darker than a night without stars. And Nicolo recognized them as the ones from his dreams the instant his enemy's sword buried in his heart, and Nicolo's last breath escaped out of his lips.

*

Soft, underwater like sounds reached his ears. Explosions. Screams. He felt the cold hard ground under him. And then his lungs released his first breath.

'Fuck' gasped loudly, sitting up in a rush. He looked around him confused and perplexed. Yes, he was in fact still on the camp, surrounded by dead corpses and the metallic sound of swords crashing against each other. He was _alive_.

His hand palmed his chest, feeling the warm blood on his uniform but no signs of wounds. He got stabbed in the heart and yet, he was breathing. 

Dry coughs on his left side. He turned his head in that direction and the man, his killer, was groaning facing the ground. He lifted his body with his arms and fell sideways, locking his eyes with Nicolo. Their chests rising and falling in fast-track. The man's face was puzzled and did the same thing Nicolo had done just a second ago, palmed his diaphragm searching for the injury that caused his death. The one even Nicolo remembered he inflicted on him. His wide eyes snapped back at him. Nothing. 

They had died. Nicolo was _certain_ about it. And yet, they were very much alive.

Their amazement shifted to panic and then terror. In a knee-jerk reaction, Nicolo stabbed the man again and again and _again_ on his chest, watching the light fading of his dark, stark eyes. He retrieved his knife and waited. Both their clothes tinted in maroon so Nicolo wasn't able to have a better look at the other man's wounds. His heart skipped a beat when the man gasped wildly and glanced _furiously_ at him.

Nicolo came back to life _every time_ just like his enemy. They weren't afraid of each other anymore. All the fear and astonishment got replaced by anger. While the rest of their men fell to the ground lifeless, Nicolo and his enemy stood tall and imposing. The starry night sky broke dawn, soft pastel colors embellishing it now. 

At some point, they realized they were the only ones on their feet so far. The field covered with corpses, dirt and blood. But their sharp eyes were locked upon each other.

'Yusuf' roar a man in a white-silver horse. He must be a general from the highest-ranked, his tunics and the clothes underneath them looked respectable and _clean_. An ice-cold stare fell upon Nicolo and his enemy, who suddenly straightened his back and saluted his general. The man in the horse returned the salutation. When they started to speak in their language, Nicolo tore his eyes away from them to his environ analyzing an escape route.

But his enemy began to shout while jabbing a finger at his direction, the man in the horse settling his cold eyes on him again. Nicolo's stomach clenched. He had a bad feeling about this. And before he could prepare to run away, a blow hit his head and his world turned pitch black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter inspired on the [Battle of the Field of Blood](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Ager_Sanguinis), if you want to check it out;) (it really came along perfectly with the series i'm shook)
> 
> comment or leave some kudos, or not lol just thank you for reading it♥
> 
> -Juls


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